The Life Stains

The Life Stains, the first album from electronic producer DJ Dog Dick, is a full-on expression of Max Eisenberg’s artistic attitude. As the album progresses, sneaky craft bleeds in, and humor and gravity meld into something not so easily pegged.

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Society plays a cruel joke on us when it comes to silly stuff. As a kid, your natural love of the goofy is indulged and even encouraged. But once you “mature," you’re supposed to take art seriously only if it’s serious, or if it’s humorous in a clever or sophisticated way. Otherwise, it should be dismissed as novelty. Even an ostensibly silly artist like “Weird Al” Yankovic needs the weight of parody to earn respect; it’s hard to imagine him winning Grammies if his music were just about food.

The problem with this paradigm is it oversimplifies art, and ignores how silliness can be serious and intelligent work can be goofy. Max Eisenberg understands this. “I’ve never been afraid to play the part of the fool,” he said in a 2012 interview. “You need to show the awkward, stupid parts of existence as much as you need to show the brilliant, austere parts.” Perhaps that philosophy is what led him to a moniker as silly as DJ Dog Dick, and surely it’s what’s made him both serious craftsman and fearless goofball.

The Life Stains, the first DJ Dog Dick album, is a full-on expression of Eisenberg’s artistic attitude. It opens with its two silliest tracks: “Our Kin”, a Dr. Demento-ready song featuring farting tuba and “cartoon voices,” and “Hello Cruel World”, an over-the-top skit recreating a delirious baby delivery. But as the album progresses, sneaky craft bleeds in, and humor and gravity meld into something not so easily pegged. Part of that is due to Eisenberg’s stylistic diversity. He began DJ Dog Dick as an avant-rap project, and you can hear hip-hop in almost every track. But there’s also clear influences from R&B, art-pop, tearful balladry, new wave, electronica, and noise.

The latter is an integral part of Eisenberg’s musical DNA. His first solo tour was with notorious French performance arist Jean-Louis Costes, and in the mid-00s he was a member of the singular Baltimore noise outfit Nautical Almanac. Those experiences gave him not only an appreciation of sonic absurdity - the idea that anything can be music - but an ear for textures and layers. This gives a density to tunes like the clanging “Pedigris” and the robo-rapped “Monkey.” It also elevates the minimalism of “Fourth of July”, technoid throb of “Sharing Scars,” and freak-psych of “Why’s a Dog?” into the territory of surreal masters such as Liars and Butthole Surfers.

What’s most surprising about The Life Stains is how Eisenberg morphs his avant-leaning skills into a weirdo-pop sensilbilty. Quite a few tunes here bear the uncommon combo of well-honed hook and curveball angles that marks the farther-out work of Todd Rundgren, or the farther-in side of R. Stevie Moore. That’s clearest on the album’s shiniest gem, the virally catchy “Grease That I Got”. Over pushing bass and escalating treble, Eisenberg paints love as a viscous liquid ready to boil. “The grease that I got likes to hiss and pop a lot,” he warbles. “What I chopped is in the stock pot, burner don’t stop.”

That’s some clever verbiage, but it’s delivered without a smirk. In fact, irony is refreshingly absent on The Life Stains. Eisenberg always comes off earnest even when he clearly wants you to laugh. At the same time, his wackiness constantly threatens to go insane. For me that unhinged edge is a huge part of the DJ Dog Dick charm; for those less inclined toward musical dementia, it could take getting used to. But open your mind to the possibility that silly music can be deep, and you might find The Life Stains worming its way into a new brain-hole.